Stars are Brightly Shining

by Quinn, Paula

  “Hi…” Frowning, he stood on tiptoes and traced the peeling letters with his fingers. “Hig? Is that an ‘h’ as well? What does it say?”

  “Highfield,” a voice said.

  Aldous let out a squeak and whirled around, seeing no one. The voice had been that of a child. A boy, like himself.

  “I’m up here,” the voice said.

  Aldous gasped and stared up at the tower windows with wide eyes. “Are you a prisoner?”

  “No, not up there!” A giggle followed. “Up here.”

  He peered up into the branches of the tree and saw a pair of trouser-clad legs straddling one of the thick boughs, feet swinging back and forth.

  “Who are you?” Aldous asked, his face warm with a flush of embarrassment and a touch of annoyance besides. “And why are you hiding up there? Come down here, where I can see you.”

  Another giggle. “Sorry. Did I frighten you? Move, then. You’re in the way.”

  He stepped back, watching as the boy swung over the bough and hung by his arms for a moment before dropping to the ground, landing square on his feet.

  “My name’s Julian.” The boy regarded Aldous with undisguised interest and held out a somewhat grubby hand. “Julian Frederick Thackeray. I’m almost nine years old and live at Highfield.”

  Aldous blinked and took the proffered hand, surprised by the boy’s strong grip, which belied his appearance. They shared the same height, but where Aldous had a solid frame, Julian had a thin, almost fragile build and a delicate appearance.

  A mess of dark brown curls framed a pale face beset with wide blue eyes. A few freckles dusted the boy’s nose, and his smile seemed genuine and warm. Aldous forgot his annoyance and returned the smile.

  “I’m Aldous Josiah Northcott. I’ll be eight years and one-half next month. Right now, I’m staying with my uncle at Northcott Manor.” He pointed back the way he’d come. “I live in London mostly, though I’ll be going to school in Essex when I get back next week.”

  “Aldous. I’ve never heard that name before.” Julian cast a brief glance at the distant outline of Monk’s Tor. “I don’t go to school. I have a tutor. My father has a house in London, but I’ve never been there. I believe he knows your uncle. Is that your pony? What’s his name?”

  Aldous regarded Comet, who was busy tearing up mouthfuls of wiry grass, his tail swatting at late summer flies. “His name’s Comet, but he’s not really mine. I just have use of him while I’m here. Do you have a pony?”

  “Yes.” Julian nodded toward the distant stand of trees. “Would you like to see him?”

  Once again, Aldous looked back toward the tor, frowning at the sight of a few clouds gathering on the horizon. He hadn’t thought to meet anyone out here, let alone a boy of similar age, but curiosity about Julian decided him. “All right,” he said, picking up Comet’s reins. “But I mustn’t stay too long. What was that tower used for, by the way? Was someone bricked up in it?”

  Julian shook his head. “No, nothing as horrid as that. My father had it sealed because it’s no longer safe to enter. He didn’t want anyone getting hurt. It’s very old. It used to be a watchtower, back when Highfield was a castle.”

  Aldous gasped. “You live in a castle?”

  Julian shook his head again. “It used to be a castle a long time ago, but most of it was torn down and the stones used to build a house instead. The gatehouse and outer walls are still there, though, and some other parts, too, if you know where to look for them. But Highfield is just a house. My father is Baron Westerdale, and my mother just had a baby. A sister for me. Her name is Grace. Do you have brothers and sisters?”

  “Two brothers,” Aldous replied. “Godfrey and Edmund. Both older than me. My father is the sixth Earl of Hutton. He has lots of properties and breeds racehorses.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever met an earl before.” He grinned at Aldous. “Or the son of one. My father owns some coalmines.”

  Julian continued to chat as they followed the path down into the woodland.

  “At one time, these woods stretched for miles,” he said. “But this is all that’s left now. My family have owned this land forever.”

  Aldous gaped up at the arched ceiling of the gatehouse.

  “There used to be a moat and a drawbridge here, too.” Julian gestured with his hand. “You can still see part of the moat in the woods at the back of the house. No water in it, though. Just weeds.”

  “I’d still like to see it,” Aldous said, turning his attention to the gravel driveway that crunched beneath his feet. He then looked ahead to the house, and his eyes widened.

  “Highfield,” Julian announced, a note of pride in his voice.

  Built of weathered gray stones, the house’s central tower rose up like the keep of a castle. At its foot, a stone porch—similar to that of a church—sheltered the main entrance. Above the porch roof at the center of the tower, a wheel-window threw out sparkles of sunlight.

  The rest of the house seemed to be a haphazard collection of different parts all thrown together, part house, part church, and part castle. One wing had two stories and a gabled roof. The other had only one story and a flat roof. Yet the overall effect was, Aldous thought, quite wonderful.

  Julian peered at him. “It’s rather magnificent, don’t you think?”

  Aldous nodded. “I like it, Julian. I like it a lot.”

  “Me, too,” he said. “And it’ll be mine one day.”

  Julian proceeded to give Aldous a tour of the grounds including the stables, where he tethered Comet before admiring Julian’s dappled Welsh pony.

  “He’s called Beau,” Julian said, tickling the pony’s nose. “He goes like the wind.”

  Though utterly without malice, Aldous couldn’t help but feel a touch of envy toward his new friend. Julian’s life seemed simpler, somehow. Less regimented. Free. He tamped down a sigh, trying not to think about Friday, though his mood soured a little.

  “You’re very lucky, Julian.”

  Julian’s eyes widened. “Why do you say that? Do you not have your own pony?”

  “Yes, but I don’t mean just because of the pony. I mean all of it. Living here, especially.”

  “I do like it here.” Julian wrinkled his nose. “But I wish I had brothers and sisters.”

  “You told me you had a sister.”

  “But I can’t play with her,” he said. “Not yet, anyway. She’s too little.”

  “My brothers are a lot older than me, so they don’t bother with me much.” Aldous looked up at the stable roof. “What’s that noise?”

  Julian sniffed. “Sounds like rain.”

  “Bollocks!” Aldous stomped over to the stable door and gazed up at the clouds. “Where did this come from?”

  “It comes out of nowhere.” Julian came to stand beside him. “My father says if you can see across the moor, it’s a sign of rain. If you can’t see across the moor, it’s because it’s already raining.”

  Aldous scowled. “It’s not funny, Julian. I’m going to get soaked going home.”

  And I might even get lost.

  Julian shrugged. “It’s probably just a shower. We can go inside and wait till it stops if you like. Do you play dominoes?”

  *

  “And who is this?” Tall and thin, with a head of closely cropped, dark curls, the man who’d just descended Highfield’s stately stone staircase peered down his nose at Aldous.

  “His name is Aldous, Father,” Julian replied. “I met him out by the stone tower.”

  “Aldous who?”

  “Northcott,” Aldous replied.

  “Northcott, you say?” The man arched a brow. “Related to Percival, by any chance?”

  Aldous nodded. “Yes, sir. He’s my uncle and my godfather.”

  “And a good man.” Lord Thackery regarded his son. “Now, your mother is sleeping, Julian, so no running about. I’ll not have her disturbed.”

  Julian shook his head and started up the stairs. “We’re just going to pl
ay dominoes till the rain stops, Father.”

  Aldous followed Julian into a small, upstairs room where the floor creaked beneath his feet and rain tapped against the window. Julian opened one of the cupboards beside the empty fireplace and pulled out a small wooden box.

  “Sit,” he said, taking a chair at an ink-stained table and tipping the dominoes out.

  Aldous cast a worried glance at the rain and sat down.

  The noise began almost immediately. A high-pitched wail that reminded Aldous of a cat, though he realized it was a baby. Julian’s new sister, no doubt. It seemed to come from the room next door. Julian showed no reaction to it. He simply set up his dominoes and Aldous did the same.

  Julian chatted about his schooling as they played, explaining how he liked geography, art, and history, but hated Latin. Aldous, listening with half an ear, offered a word here and there. Anxious about his ride home, he kept throwing glances at the rain tumbling down the window. Northcott Manor suddenly seemed far away, and he struggled with an increasing sense of trepidation.

  All the while, Julian’s sister continued to wail, the noise grating on Aldous’s stretched nerves.

  I shouldn’t have ridden so far. I wish the rain would stop. He gritted his teeth. And I wish Julian’s sister would stop that bloody screaming!

  In that moment of exasperation, Aldous swore never to have children. Not if they squalled as endlessly as Julian Thackeray’s newborn sister. He wasn’t actually sure where babies came from, but he’d never allow his wife to do whatever ladies did that resulted in them giving birth.

  “Why does she cry so much?” Aldous asked, his frustration surpassing his ability to control it. “I wish she’d stop.”

  “Probably because she’s hungry.” Julian frowned as he set his chosen domino down.

  Aldous huffed and placed one of his two remaining tiles. “Then why doesn’t someone feed her?”

  “They try, but she won’t eat.” Julian played his next domino.

  “Why not?” Aldous fidgeted, realizing he could now place his double six and win the game.

  “I’m not really sure. She’s very small. Father says it’s because she wasn’t supposed to be here for another month.” Julian’s bottom lip quivered. “He…he says she might not live.”

  A flush of remorse warmed Aldous’s cheeks as he closed his fingers around his winning tile. “That’s awful. I’m sorry, Julian.”

  Julian shrugged. “It happened the last time, too, ’cept then it was a boy. Henry. He was even smaller and only lived for a day. If he hadn’t died, he’d be five years old now.”

  No sooner had he spoken than the wailing ceased. Aldous held his breath as he met Julian’s gaze. Only the patter of rain on the window broke the silence.

  “Maybe she went to sleep,” he said, an attempt to reassure himself as much as Julian. “Or maybe she’s eating at last.”

  “Maybe.” Julian chewed on his lip. “I hope so.”

  At that moment, the rain stopped, making the silence all the more profound.

  Cry. Please cry.

  There. Another wail, though a little weaker than before. And a woman’s soft voice.

  “See?” Aldous heaved a sigh of relief. “She’s all right.” He rose to his feet and set the domino face down. Somehow, he didn’t feel like claiming his victory. “Looks like the rain has stopped, so I’d better go. If the weather stays fine, I’ll come by again tomorrow.”

  *

  On the way home, Aldous resolved not to mention Highfield to his parents or uncle. To do so would prompt a myriad of questions he didn’t feel like answering. For some reason, he couldn’t shift what felt like a lump of clay in his belly.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about the baby’s cry and the suffering it represented. He argued with himself, trying to find excuses for his ill-temper and unkindly thoughts, but couldn’t quite justify any of it.

  So, he kept his responses, and consequently his lies, to a minimum. Yes, he’d enjoyed his time on the moor and no, he didn’t get soaked in the rain because he’d taken shelter in a barn. His mother had fussed, declaring her worry. His father had scoffed at that. “I told you he’d be fine, Elena,” he said. “You indulge him far too much.”

  Uncle Percival had arched a brow. “Whereabouts was this barn you sheltered in, Aldous?”

  He’d shrugged. “Not sure exactly, Uncle. It was just there. Out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Was it, indeed,” his uncle replied. “How fortunate for you.”

  Chapter Two

  Aldous tossed and turned for a while before falling asleep, but the next morning, things seemed brighter. The lump of clay in his belly had gone. Yes, he’d been a bit grumpy the day before, but in hindsight, he’d really done nothing wrong. He doubted Julian had even noticed. As for lying to his parents and his uncle…well, he intended to make amends for that.

  Sort of.

  “You off again, young man?” Uncle Percival asked, stepping out of his study as Aldous sped along the hallway.

  “Yes, Uncle.” He quickened his stride. “It’s my last day, and I want to make the most of it.”

  “Quite right,” his uncle replied. “I’ll look forward to hearing about it later.”

  *

  Aldous reined Comet to a halt beneath the oak tree and peered up into the branches. “Julian?”

  Only the breeze responded, whispering through the leaves, prompting an odd little prickle to run across the back of Aldous’ neck. Suppressing a shudder, he urged Comet down the cart path toward Highfield.

  Today would be different, he resolved. A day for making amends, at least in his own mind, for the transgressions of the previous day. No bad moods or ill-temper. Just fun. Maybe he and Julian might go for a ride, or explore the woods and what remained of the old castle moat. Afterward, he’d go home and tell his parents and uncle all about Julian and Highfield.

  No more lies.

  He rode through the gatehouse, puzzled by a feeling of desertion that seemed to hang in the air. Where was everyone? After tethering Comet, he wandered up to the door, stood on tiptoes, and gave the iron knocker two hard raps.

  The door opened a few moments later and a footman peered out. “Yes?” the man asked, his face expressionless.

  “I’m here to see Master Julian,” Aldous replied.

  A slight frown appeared on the man’s face. “Wait here, please,” he said, and closed the door.

  An odd reaction, Aldous thought. Why hadn’t he been invited in? As he puzzled, the door opened again, just wide enough for Julian to peer out.

  “Hello, Julian.” Aldous grinned. “I thought you might be up in the tree again, but you weren’t, so…” His grin vanished as he noticed Julian’s blotchy face. “Um, are you all right?”

  “Not really, no.” Julian glanced over his shoulder. “I can’t come out today.”

  “Why not? What’s wrong?”

  His mouth quivered. “She’s dead, Aldous.”

  “What?” An ice-cold hand gripped Aldous’ heart. He’d misheard, surely. “She died?”

  “Last night.” Julian’s face crumpled. “I have to go. Sorry.”

  “But—”

  The door closed.

  *

  Hands tucked behind his head, Aldous lay in the grass beneath the oak tree, gazing up into the branches. He’d managed to ride that far before stopping to empty the contents of his stomach. Damp from the previous day’s rain had long since soaked through his clothes, but he paid it little mind. If he caught a chill, so be it. He deserved to suffer.

  Oblivious to time, he lay beneath the tree a good while. Something inside him had broken, and try as he might, he failed to see how it could ever be mended. Tears burned the back of his eyes, but he steadfastly kept them at bay. Grace had cried, and he’d complained because the noise had irritated him. He’d been angry at her. A tiny, sickly baby. And now she’d never cry again. Well, neither would he.

  Not ever.

  By the time he got back to Nort
hcott Manor, a part of Aldous Josiah Northcott had forever changed. Though he didn’t feel responsible for Grace’s death, he regretted it to the depths of his soul, for he’d judged her without knowing her. And the cruel finality of death had robbed him of a chance to make amends. He could never take back his unkind thoughts, or his selfish vow, or his uncaring remarks. They would be with him always. Unresolved.

  He buried his sense of shame and told his parents and uncle only what they wanted to hear, that he’d enjoyed his day out on the moor. His father had grunted while his mother had fussed over his damp clothes and sent him off to take a warm bath.

  Uncle Percival said nothing.

  Later that evening, however, he came to sit beside Aldous, who was putting together the latest jigsaw map of Europe.

  “Well done,” he said, regarding Aldous’ progress.

  Aldous smiled, and his uncle released a sigh.

  “Is there something you’re not telling us, Aldous?”

  Aldous swallowed over a sudden thickening in his throat. “No, sir. Nothing.”

  “Hmm.” Percival rose to his feet. “Well, if there’s ever anything troubling you, you can always come to me. I’ll never judge you.”

  The words, though kindly spoken, cut like a knife. Aldous didn’t reply.

  The next day, he left for London without looking back.

  *

  The years passed. Aldous excelled in school and went on to further excel at Oxford. During that time, he saw both his brothers married, and mourned the death of his father. He also saw Percival at numerous family gatherings and always managed to conjure up an excuse for not visiting the Yorkshire estate. That broken part of him would not allow him to go back. After finishing at Oxford, Aldous took a captain’s commission and joined Wellington’s army. After his injury at Waterloo, he returned to London to convalesce.

  Chapter Three

  Present Day

  Tuesday, 14 December, 1819 AD

  London

  Sated, Aldous rolled onto his back and gazed up at the ceiling, waiting for the mild pain in his gut to subside. The injury had healed well but still troubled him a little during strenuous exercise.